


Bad Idea

by Jain



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: M/M, Masturbation, POV Third Person, Pining, Pre-Relationship, Present Tense, Season/Series 01, Trick or Treat Exchange
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-08-07 01:20:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16398689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jain/pseuds/Jain
Summary: It's hard not to think about Jon when Martin's in the Archives, lying in the same bed Jon has lain in.





	Bad Idea

**Author's Note:**

  * For [chiiyo86](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chiiyo86/gifts).



It's almost an accident the first time. It's ten p.m., Martin's usual bedtime. He's lying on the surprisingly sturdy and comfortable camp bed, equipped with a proper pillow and duvet and everything. And he's staring into the darkness, unable to close his eyes and go to sleep, because he's an _idiot_ who spent the past two and a half hours in an internet research spiral that started with looking up parasitic worms on Wikipedia and only got more disturbing from there.

He tries to think happy thoughts, to breathe deeply and steadily, to _relax_. Without really thinking about it, he slips his right hand under the waistband of his boxers and cups it undemandingly over his crotch. A moment later, of course, he realizes what he's done. He flushes, lifts his hand away...and then pauses.

Yes, all right, he's in his place of work, and more specifically in his supervisor's bed. Masturbation isn't exactly the most professional form of stress relief, given the circumstances. But just living in the Archives has blurred a bunch of lines already. Also, he really does need to get some sleep if he's going to be at all useful, and a good orgasm tends to knock him right out. From a certain perspective, he _ought_ to masturbate right now, in the interests of workplace productivity.

The part of him that can't help catastrophizing presents him with one nightmare scenario after another: Jon returning to the Institute unexpectedly for some documents and catching Martin mid-wank; Elias doing the same; carefully hidden CCTV cameras... The greater part of him pushes those imaginings to the side and occupies itself with fetching a packet of tissues and the bin. He may be making a terrible mistake, but he's not going to compound it by making a mess.

He gets back in bed, shoves the duvet onto the floor for lack of a better place to put it, and sticks his hand down his boxers with renewed purpose. He's still soft, but his hand feels both good and comforting, and he does his best to let his mind go blank while he strokes and squeezes his increasingly interested cock. His other hand fumbles to get under his T-shirt so that he can play with his nipples.

He tries not to think about Jon--he always tries not to think about Jon at times like this. Not because he believes it's wrong or anything; Martin's fantasies are strictly his own business, as long as they stay inside his head. (Which needless to say they do. Even in his poetry, he's circumspect.) But because it hurts a little, to fantasize about Jon loving him, or at least wanting him, when in reality Martin's pretty sure Jon doesn't even _like_ him most days.

It's hard not to think about Jon when he's in the Archives, though, lying in the same bed Jon has lain in, and when the scent of old paper is all around him like a fond reminder. So--feeling a bit pathetic, but not enough to actually stop what he's doing--Martin replays the memory of telling Jon about Jane Prentiss's campaign of terror against him, and of Jon believing him and taking care of him. (And if the image of a naked Jon being caressed by a pair of carefully anonymous hands pops into his head, too...well, Martin can bear it.)

By now, he's hard enough to stroke off properly. He doesn't rush to a finish, but teases himself gently, with frequent breaks to play with his balls or stroke his inner thighs or trace the ticklish curves of his hipbones. And when he finally lets himself come, in several long pulses of breathless pleasure, he can feel the promise of a full night's sleep following behind, leaving him just enough time to clean up and pull the duvet back over himself before he's out like a light.

* * *

A week later, and living in the Magnus Institute has come to feel almost routine, albeit still terrifying when Martin lets himself think about _why_ he's there. But routines do have an unpleasant way of changing on him.

"Oh my God," he says quietly, standing in the doorway of Document Storage and staring into the room in disbelief.

Jon is asleep in the bed.

The bed that Martin's been sleeping in for the past week. The bed that Martin's spent a not insignificant amount of that time wanking in. The bed that he absolutely intended to make _pristine_ before Jon ever touched it again, even if it meant having to buy new sheets, only he never got the chance and now Jon is in the bed. Not just lying on top of the covers, either, but actually curled up under the duvet.

Martin feels sick with mortification. Perhaps the worst thing, though, is that there's a not-so-small part of him that's pleased by the sight. 

Because the truth is that Jon looks good lying there. His habitual frown lines are smoothed almost to invisibility, and his hair is adorably mussed, and his lips are parted and very pink. Martin gets a bit distracted looking at his mouth and at the way the duvet rises and falls gently with each peaceful breath. Also, not to put too fine a point on it, Jon is _in Martin's bed_. That fact does some very predictable things to Martin's insides.

He's not sure exactly how long he stands there. But eventually he realizes, with a stab of guilt, that he's invading Jon's privacy in a fairly creepy way. It doesn't matter that Jon's decided to take a nap in Martin's bed. He didn't invite Martin to stare at him while he did it. And it's really Jon's bed anyway; Martin's only been borrowing it.

Just as he turns to leave, though, Jon makes a soft, disgruntled noise and opens his eyes. Martin freezes.

Jon blinks at Martin for several long moments, and then he...not smiles, but not _not_ smiles either, if that makes any sense. His expression looks...lighter, somehow. Martin isn't so deluded as to think it's because of him, but he can't help but smile in response. It crosses his mind that maybe Jon's just habitually sleep-deprived, and that's why he's so grumpy all the time.

"Sorry, am I keeping you from your bed?" Jon asks, a soft rasp to his voice that Martin wills himself to ignore. He starts to push the duvet aside, although his movements are slow, reluctant.

Martin shakes his head quickly. "No, no, you're fine. It's not even seven yet. I just needed to get something. You can...sleep a bit longer if you like?"

It feels like a weird suggestion to make, but then the whole situation is weird, now that Martin really thinks about it. Jon is so uptight about things normally, and yet he apparently had no issues with napping in the bed that Martin's been using for the past week, laying his head on the same pillowcase and wrapping himself up in the sheets that have cradled Martin. He doesn't even seem to mind waking up to find Martin in the room.

That's all rather more intimacy than Martin's shared with any of his other bosses, and Jon not only seems unembarrassed by it, he seems _oblivious_ to it. Obliviousness is definitely preferable to most of the alternatives, however, so Martin is just going to go with it.

"I shouldn't," Jon says, but he stops trying to get up. "I really ought to go home, I'm just...tired. It's been a long week."

"It has," Martin agrees. Not as long as the previous week and a half was, for him, but still a long week. He adds, feeling rather daring, "I just ordered a pizza. It's in the staff room. You could split it with me, if you want. Saves you the trouble of getting your own dinner, and then you could just go home and go straight to bed."

It's the wrong thing to say. The expression on Jon's face goes stiff and awkward, and Martin braces himself for a refusal--and then Jon yawns widely, his hand coming up to cover his mouth at the last second. He gives Martin a rueful smile afterwards. "That actually sounds like an excellent idea, Martin. Thank you."

"Oh. Okay! I'll just...uh...go and set the table." Since he really shouldn't let himself stay and watch Jon fumble sleepily to get out of bed, to put himself back to rights. "Don't fall back asleep. The pizza won't stay hot for long," he adds, right before he leaves the room.

Halfway down the hall, he realizes he forgot to grab the spare CO2 canister that was the reason he went to Document Storage in the first place. (The staff room has a fire extinguisher, of course, but Martin checked it earlier, feeling somewhat paranoid, only to discover that it _wasn't_ paranoia after all. Or, rather, it was in that the fire extinguisher wasn't expired, as he'd feared. But checking it led to the discovery that it contained not CO2, but ABC powder.) He can't go back now, though. He'll just have to hope that no worms come to eat him in the next half hour.

He's grinning, despite the threat of worms taking advantage of his lack of preparedness. He doesn't have any illusions about what dinner with Jon will be like. Jon will eat no more than two slices of pizza in almost complete silence, and he'll listen to Martin's chatter with a vaguely perplexed expression on his face, and then he'll leave. It probably says some not great things about Martin that he's looking forward to it so much. But, honestly, he can't bring himself to care.


End file.
